


The March of Time

by AbsoluteBaloney



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: And I mean slow, Angst, Character Study, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pharmercy, Pharmercy Appreciation Week, Slow Burn, angela and genji are close friends, like be patient im getting better at writing yall
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-15 02:59:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15403470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbsoluteBaloney/pseuds/AbsoluteBaloney
Summary: Fareeha hates Time. She and it have decided their differences and left each other to their own business. Their disputes were endless and their hatred of one another seemingly limitless. Time, is persistent, however, and seems determined to heal wounds that Fareeha was sure had scarred over.





	1. The Letter

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys this is my first fanfiction so please don't be too disappointed in me if is sucks (:  
> This will take a while to pick up and I don't have a consistent update schedule so it might have two uploads in a day and then none for a month.  
> Please leave comments if there is anything (and I mean anything) that you think should be fixed. I will do my best to respond.

Time passes. Like it always has. Like it always will. 

Time steals. Steals mothers and fathers from daughters and sons, steals children from parents. Steals friends and family and love and life and legacies. 

Time does not heal. And it certainly doesn’t heal all wounds . Fareeha has learned that lesson. Life does not seem to agree with that fact, however, and so it pushes the same four words down her throat again and again. Time does not heal. Time does not heal. Time does not heal. 

Time forgets. It forgets what it stole. It forgets who it killed. It forgets the families it tore apart and the love it hurled into hate. 

Fareeha? Fareeha does not forget. She does not forgive. 

Not herself for her mistakes, not her mother for her distrust, not the doctor for her betrayal, not Winston for his persistence, not Overwatch for its short sightedness, and certainly not the endless march of time. Fareeha does not forget. Fareeha does not forgive. 

Time, is another story. Just when Fareeha assumes that time and her had finally reached the conclusion that they weren’t friends, that they simply never could be; that it had stabbed her in the back too many times to try to stop the bleeding, she received a message on her computer. And shortly afterwards a letter in the mail. 

From Winston. The overly persistent. The determined. He did not know time. He seemed to ignore its presence. Inviting her, to join a renewed Overwatch. That was currently operating illegally. That had few members. Or, most likely, at the moment, only one. A hopeful Ape with a penchant for peanut butter. His timing, in Fareehas eyes, couldn’t have been worse. But the truth was, although she was unwilling to admit this, that it couldn't have been better. 

She gave it time, because time gave it to her. Time to grow. Time to sit. Time to ferment. She considered giving it time to rot into the earth, but memories dragged her away from the dirt and shoved the letter in her face. Time stood by and watched, approvingly. 

Memories were old and stale in most minds but they were new and fresh in hers. She didn’t let time take what little she had left. And in her memories, her visions of days passed, she saw a love for family and love for life that had been absent from her for too long. 

She had the boys, the squadron, and they were her family, her legacy, but time brings great nations to their knees and empires to ruins. 

She loved them dearly but she had grown weary of doing everything again and again, she needed a refresher, a new chapter. Or maybe she longed for an old one. Some part of her wanted to relive something, something that almost didn’t seem like an experience of her own. But there was a missed opportunity in there somewhere, and time kept reminding Fareeha that somewhere out there there existed a different universe where she saved the world again and again with Overwatch on her wings. And how desperately it was now that she wanted that Universe to be her own. 

Fareeha left that letter alone for 4 months 8 days and 2 hours following the moment she first read it.


	2. Walk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angela goes on a walk.

Angela liked walking. 

It was a state of not going anywhere really, not having any goal, being open to go and stop then go and stop at any point. Alone, she could feel free to keep no apparent pace if she wanted, or a steady one, it was all up to her and her wishes in that exact moment.

In other words, it posed a stark contrast to her work. 

Deadlines were stressful. Walking was not. Research was tiring. Walking was not. Work was a linear path lined with rights and wrongs. Walking was an endless road branching out into new ones. Limited opportunities. Limitless ones. 

Now Angela only ever went out by herself. She used to walk with Genji, when he was wracked with emotion and pain in every waking moment. His breathing steadied with the rustle of the wind, and he talked. And Genji Shimada was not one to talk. His eyes were downcast in those days, always, he said enough through his relentless training. But he talked then, as they wandered along the cliffs’ edges, through the ports and down to the docks and across the sand. He talked about his grief and his joy, and Angela returned the kindness with carefully selected confirmations. 

It was the sadness and the anger that kept Genji with Angela, exchanging quiet memories by the rushing waters of watchpoint Gibraltar. And when the sadness died down enough for the young Shimada to see the need to move on, bam, Angela was alone again. 

But that’s the way she liked it. Genji always walked the slightest bit faster than her, which meant she felt the need to match his pace, which in turn meant that she would be tired after a bit, and that wasn’t effortless. And that was all the point. 

Work was difficult. Walking was not. 

That was all the point. 

Overwatch was both the best and worst time of her life. She, frankly, couldn’t imagine doing it all over again. But here she was, walking on the same gravel, staring at the same water, stepping over the same fences, reading the same signs. But everything felt very sad now, the vibrancy was gone. Maybe in some time it would return. But then it would be loud again. Ugh. 

The air smelled of salt in the least aggravating way. It didn’t smell of dead fish like the rivers by her home, it smelled like the ocean just enough that you could say, “hey, the ocean must be near,” not “oh, god, I guess the ocean is close by!” 

It was the most soothing things got. Despite the fact that the Watchpoint was quiet nowadays, work always had this somewhat unsettlingly loud feeling to it, not like a crowd is loud, per say. More like how a swarm of gnats or an uncomfortable sweater is loud. 

She walked there, enjoying the quiet feeling of the cliffs, and trying not to think about how loud it might be when she returned. 

The sheer amount of noise, come to think of it, that Lena and Torbjorn could make was really pretty daunting and she didn’t want to think about how much worse it could get with new recruits. I mean, imagine Lena having someone to talk to all the time? She already bugged Angela enough, had learned to keep her distance from Torb, and spent a good deal of time around Winston, but they were all busy bodies and knew how to deflect conversations like Genji could deflect bullets. But anyone new? Anyone who thought it might just be a decent idea to start and maintain a conversation with the young pilot? Devastating. Nonstop talking. Oh god, she could hear it now. Hopefully no newbies would be coming soon. Hopefully she could enjoy some peace while she worked. Some silence here and there. 

And at that, god decided to spite her and her phone rang, Winston’s hairy face covering half of the screen. She braced herself for bad news. 

“Hello?”

“Angela!” a booming voice responded, “You answered this time!”

“This time, yes this time, all times.” She paused. “Most times. This time?”

“You have a-” shuffling noises echoed in her ears “a um habit of not answering your phone.”

“Oh! Well I am sure that can be amended, but, as I am sure you are aware, I am usually in the laboratory, working.” 

“Right, of course,” Winston seemed to be cherry picking his words, “I didn't mean to offend you, I called to let you know that our first arrival is here! Well, our first two. Not counting Lena and Torbjorn. And with company as well, a very,” that pause again, “interesting fellow who appears to have a great interest in your research. So please, come out and talk, if you have the time.” 

“Oh? Make sure they don’t touch any of my lab equipment!” 

“Please don’t worry, they’re off getting unpacked and whatnot. They’ll be far from the lab equipment. He’s very happy to see you again.” 

“I will be there shortly Winston,” Angela closed, without elaboration.

Angela turned and stared out at the ocean one last time. Winston had neglected to mention who had arrived, but there were only a few possible candidates. All seemed endlessly unlikely. Jesse was probably off stealing from corner stores in some suspect desert town, Jack was dead, Gabriel Reyes was a masked killer with a penchant for regret, and Reinhardt was scheduled to come with his intern in a week or so. Whoever it was could be back at her office shredding papers and spitting on the needles, so she turned on her heels and hurried back down the gravel path to the Watchpoint. 

It wasn’t enjoyable, jogging back like that. Too rushed, too tiring. Too much like work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feel free to leave comments/criticism. I'm looking forward to writing this fic. Its gonna be a slow burn. yea sorry.


End file.
